Footsy

I once found a note written by my dad. Or at least I thought it was until I realized the piece of paper was almost six hundred miles away from him. So, who wrote it? After a little investigative work, I discovered that my then-teenaged brother Todd had been the author, but the resemblance of the penmanship to my dad’s was remarkable. Is it possible that something odd like penmanship could be genetic? I understand eye color, height and skin tone, but writing? If that event had not occurred, I would still be firmly in the that’s-not-possible camp, but I’m a believer now. It has taken my husband a little longer to get on board with the idea, however. He had to have a conversion experience as well, I guess. And it came in the form of a little girl with foot issues. Not so much the feet themselves, but stuff on the feet themselves. After years of Nick watching me freak out when I try to work in the kitchen but can’t because crumbs or other debris are on the bottoms of my feet (and thinking I was crazy), he gets to see the same pattern repeating itself in Scarlett. She cannot handle kitchen-yuck on her feet for even a second. Which made me think about how unsuited she would probably be to living on a farm like the animals in Margaret Wise Brown’s Big Red Barn. She might not be a farm girl, but she’s definitely my girl.

http://www.amazon.com/Big-Barn-Margaret-Wise-Brown/dp/0694006246

http://books.google.com/books